


Bon Appétit

by ElDiablito_SF



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene, Reunions, Sass, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 14:53:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10766529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElDiablito_SF/pseuds/ElDiablito_SF
Summary: The Chevalier returns from his exile in Rome.





	Bon Appétit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xJuniperx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xJuniperx/gifts).
  * Translation into Français available: [Bon Appétit](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11302047) by [markantony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/markantony/pseuds/markantony)



> Written in response to the Tumblr prompt 37. “Can you just shut up for five minutes?”
> 
> Takes place in between episodes 2.01 and 2.02 for spoiler purposes.

“Monsieur has not eaten all day,” the frazzled valet spoke dolorously over the ostensibly full table that had been set up the prince’s bedroom, to save him the trip.

“Monsieur is not hungry,” Philippe replied. 

Another sunset. Another day without him. The sun only ever did rise and set for the Chevalier. Did the Montespan minx not say it had been two weeks since his prat of a brother sent a messenger to Rome? Philippe had lost his appetite for most things since that particular discussion, including, it appeared, for leaving his bedroom.

Philippe reached for the glass of wine before him only to set it aside with disgust. “You pest! Have you been watering this?”

“Monsieur has not eaten,” the valet repeated, as if that was a legitimate excuse for insubordination. Philippe had tossed the glass against the fireplace, where the wine and glass splattered almost like blood upon the battlefield from the cannonade.

“Mignonette!”

Philippe spun around, upturning his chair.

“Is this any way to greet your beloved, who is so recently returned from a long and absurdly dull exile?”

Philippe took two steps towards his lover and took his smug face into his own trembling hands.

“Look at you, darling,” Chevalier prattled on, “your cuffs look dreadful and your hair is limp. That better be the only part of you that is limp upon beholding me!”

“Can you just shut up for five minutes?” Philippe exhaled and pulled his infuriating beloved into a kiss.

The Chevalier smiled against his lips before his mouth opened and his tongue gently probed against the seam of Philippe’s mouth, slowly licking inside. Philippe thrust his hips into a hand that conveniently appeared pressed against his rapidly swelling cock.

“Mmmm, make me, stallion,” Chevalier grinned wickedly as he came up for air. “God, I missed _this_ even more than I thought I would,” he declared, fingers clenching around Philippe’s length, tearing a soft moan from his lips.

“You have been gone for so long, I had forgotten what a nuisance you can be,” Philippe whispered, leaning into the touch, attempting to catch Chevalier’s nose with his lips and teeth. He nipped at his lower lip, his earlobe, inhaled the scent emanating from Chevalier’s neck. “Tell me something ridiculously romantic,” he whispered.

“I thought you wanted me to shut up,” the Chevalier grinned, backing them both up towards the bed. His nimble fingers were already loosening Philippe’s cravat and pushing the buttons of his velvet doublet out of their loopholes.

“Your mouth, Chevalier,” Philippe leaned in for another quick kiss, “has many uses. Most of them are even much admired at court.”

“ _La bocca_ , my pet,” Chevalier stopped and ran his thumb across Philippe’s lower lip. “That is how they say ‘mouth’ _in Italia_.” 

Philippe’s eyes narrowed, unimpressed. “You can do better than that. How do I know you have not lost your ability to woo while in Italy? One hears how crude the Italians are constantly.”

Scandalized, the Chevalier pressed his hand to his chest in an exaggerated gesture of a feigned wound. “I must prove myself to you, must I, Mignonette?” 

Philippe remained visibly unmoved, although his eyes lingered over the sinews of his lover’s neck. Oh, he had missed that particular part of him. The Chevalier had ever been a swanlike creature. Fondly, Philippe had recollected that the swan too was a bird prone to sudden attacks of biting. With a single push of Monsieur’s hand, his lover tumbled onto the bed.

“Listen to this,” Chevalier spoke, arranging himself as alluringly as he could on his side and kicking off one shoe. “At night, in Rome, all stars would lose their shine, so dulled were they by your absence. The aroma of the flowers turned to rotten decay in my very nostrils, for you were not at my side to smell their perfume. The waters of the Tiber stilled, refusing to flow, for they knew I could not follow their steps towards you…”

“That is quite enough,” Philippe declared, climbing into the bed and turning the Chevalier onto his back, their faces a mere breath away.

“I thought you desired to be wooed.”

“I said I missed your mouth,” Philippe corrected and dove in for another forceful kiss, letting his lips drink their fill of his long-lost paramour. Philippe had been wandering in the desert, but now, his beautiful beloved was the well from which he could finally drink his fill. It would be worth the cost of the dreaded Palatine wedding, he told himself.

Chevalier’s hand had breached the ramparts of the princely trousers, wrapping around the familiar girth as he laughed, breathlessly, into Philippe’s open mouth.

“I will give you my mouth if I can have what is rightfully mine, Mignonette.” His hand stroked slowly over Philippe’s rapidly engorging length.

Philippe startled, stilling his hips from thrusting into the Chevalier’s grip. “I’m yours, you imbecile,” he stated earnestly. “ _God_ , what I would not do to have you back in my bed, where you belong.”

The Chevalier flipped them both over, straddling Philippe’s hips and slowly sliding down his body until his breath tickled the tumescent flesh. “What _have_ you done, my sweet, to warrant my return?”

“I think,” Philippe gasped, wrapping his fingers into the tendrils of the Chevalier’s luxurious hair, “that we’ve talked quite enough for your first night home.”

“Mmmm,” Chevalier moaned his agreement around the head of Philippe’s weeping cock. He may have actually attempted to say “Home,” but Philippe thrust up into his lover’s glorious mouth rather than dwell on that too deeply.

“Don’t clear the food,” he ordered the valet, who stood frozen by the small table like a deer in the crosshairs. “I’m certain we’re about to work up quite the appetite.”

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I popped my _Versailles_ cherry! Was it good for you?


End file.
